The Beatles’ song Let It Be has always kind of discomfited me. There’s no denying the beauty of the melody, and the good feeling in which it invites the listener to indulge. But — and I don’t think I’m alone in this — I hesitate to want to give myself over to some vague good feeling whose roots and purpose are unknown to me, or which may even be deceptive in some fashion. (That’s why I’m such a fun guy to hang out with.)

Musically, the song is a great synthesis of gospel and, well, Beatles-type-pop, and it’s obviously quite affecting. Lyrically, as we know, the first verse goes like this:

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

Well, stop right there. From the beginning, I think, many listeners heard “Mother Mary” and thought of the Christian figure Mary, the mother of Jesus. How can one not, given the gospelly tone? No doubt, due to this, the song has found its way into many folk masses and other Christian services, with or without the approval of the bishop. Yet even those who sing it in that context have to have some misgivings. Is that what Paul McCartney really meant? (The song is credited to Lennon/McCartney, of-course, but I don’t think anyone argues that it is not a pure Paul number.) I don’t know what McCartney’s religious beliefs are. He doesn’t wear them on his sleeve and it is uncharacteristic of him to write an overtly religious song. More to the point, in any case, he has specifically said in interviews that the “Mother Mary” he had in mind when writing this song was his own (then and now-still deceased) mother named Mary. He has reportedly said that the song was inspired by a dream in which his mother came to him and said, if not “let it be”, then something to the effect of “it will be alright.”

And there has lain my problem with the sentiment of the song. Let it be can be heard as an exhortation as insubstantial and vague as, “Never mind. Things will be fine. Don’t worry.” How comforting is that, when you get down to it? Well, perhaps quite comforting in a desperate moment, when spoken by a loved one, but in the end, these are hardly “words of wisdom.” Things aren’t always going to be alright, no matter what mom says in a dream.

I know that people project whatever they want to project onto the lyrics of the song, regardless of what the songwriter has said in interviews, and that’s just fine for them, but I’ve never had anything meaningful to project onto it. The song has always sounded like a bit of a con to me, albeit a very charming and even beautiful con. Almost a paean to nothingness, and one with which I could never join in a full-throated way.

Now, however, I am grateful to have an entirely new and deeply meaningful way of hearing this song, even if it may have nothing to do with what Paul McCartney originally had in mind. It is thanks to a recent sermon by the pastor of the neighborhood church (Immanuel Lutheran) that I happen to be graced to be able to attend. Ours is a very fine preacher — I would say without hesitation one of the very best I’ve ever heard, and that’s a nice thing to be able to say about one’s own preacher. Being, in a good way, a traditionalist, he is not one to over-indulge in autobiographical whimsy or personal anecdote during his sermons. (When he does it is about illuminating the larger picture through the personal experience, rather than reducing the larger picture to a highly subjective context.) On this occasion (the Fourth Sunday of Advent, pdf file at the church’s website) he did incorporate some reminiscences regarding his own father, an upstanding man who lived to be only 45 years-old. In the face of a clearly very challenging childhood, his father had gone on to study theology and to become a minister. He developed along the way a deep love of classical music. During the 1960s, while bringing up his children and fighting his eventual terminal illness, he did not become a fan of the popular music of that day. The Beatles were not on his play list, even if they were on his son’s.

The Gospel text for Pastor Fryer’s sermon on this Sunday before Christmas was Luke 1:26-38. Mary has been visited by the angel Gabriel and told that she will carry a child who will be called the Son of God. That would constitute an unusual and potentially very upsetting day for anyone, no doubt. She has a choice to make, as to how she deals with this announcement. Verse 38 (RSV) has her response: “And Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” Let it be to me, according to your word.

As my pastor told it, the hearing of the song Let It Be rather changed the mind of his father about the Beatles, struggling against death as he was, and facing the terrible prospect of leaving his young family behind. What the song communicated to a man so well versed in scripture was not a mere “never mind,” or a bland “everything will be alright,” but instead a statement of humble acceptance before the one true God: Let it be to me according to your word. Thy will be done. The song made sense in this way, and was a good song.

It never occurred to this writer that the “Mother Mary” of the Bible actually said the words, “Let it be.” But there it is: she did. Let it be to me according to your word. Did McCartney know this? There’s no particular reason to think so, or to think that he used these words for that reason. Yet, the song came into being as it is, and you could argue that it actually makes its best sense when the words are heard in this way.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be (to me according to your word).

I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be (to me according to your word).

Instead of a faith based vaguely on everything being alright in the end, the faith of the song and the singer is placed in the word and the will of God. A more secure place, surely; indeed, the most secure place. The song, heard this way, is not some kind of pastiche of gospel, but a mature and quite fully realized song of faith, communicating genuine “words of wisdom.” The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge. (Proverbs 1:7).

I think the fact that Paul is unlikely to have consciously intended this probably has little weight at this point. Nothing in the song contradicts this way of hearing it. The song exists independently at this stage, with a life of its own, a life you might say was imparted to it by the source of all creativity.

I’m very grateful to have this rather more solid way of hearing the song, forty years later, thanks to the perceptions of a good man I never knew.

This past September Paul McCartney sang it live, and not so very far from Bethlehem. YouTube clip below.

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